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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24629425">caution, wet floor</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/everylosttouch/pseuds/everylosttouch'>everylosttouch</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the dark, the cold, the lonely [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shadowhunters (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alec Lightwood Deserves Nice Things, Cutting, Depression, Drug Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Magnus is there for him and always will, alec can’t sleep, idk proper therapy practices but thus probably isn’t it, loss of feeling, no beta we die like men, you guessed it this is another vent fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 00:34:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,615</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24629425</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/everylosttouch/pseuds/everylosttouch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i> —alec rides a slippery slope.</i><br/> <i>Sometimes he forgets how dangerous it is—</i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the dark, the cold, the lonely [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1606948</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>105</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>caution, wet floor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Here we go again oops<br/>Enjoy or don’t idgaf</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>;</p><p>Alec rides a slippery slope.</p><p>Has for a long while.</p><p>He’s been troubled. It’s not a recent effect. The dull throb of his chest and the numb feeling in his fingers is far from new. He’s had it for as long as he can remember, so long that he can’t remember what it’s like to have lived without this. For Alec, it’s hard to remember what it feels like to feel present in his own body, for him to not feel like a ghost wandering without purpose.</p><p>And he has purpose. He’s been told that at least. By his therapist, his friends, his family. He’s heard it all before. He has a job, a home, a life. </p><p>He has purpose.</p><p>But the lines of purpose that define him—-friends, family, jobs—-it tends to blur. </p><p>When it blurs, everything goes hazy. He drifts back into that space where his breathing feels off and his body feels foreign. He presses his fingers to his thumb starting with the pointer finger, all the way to the pinky. It’s supposed to help. It’s what the therapist advised. <em>Think on what you want to move, then move it</em>, the memory echoes in his brain, <em>show yourself you have control.</em></p><p>But the thing is, Alec <em>doesn’t</em> have control.</p><p>He’s pressed his fingers together for several minutes now, waiting for his mind to latch on to the feeling, to prove to himself that yes—-this is his body. But it doesn’t. Instead, it drifts, thinking about how cold the touch is, but how it doesn’t feel cold, that it feels like nothing to him, how he’s desperate to feel something.</p><p>It’s a slippery slope, that feeling. Sometimes it can be directed proactively, like he can stand in the sun and feel its heat, or feel the wind as he sits out on his balcony. But other times, there’s nothing he can physically do to feel anything, like his brain has blocked off the entire section of feeling. </p><p>The numbness is what drives him to his worst. It’s what makes him want to dip his toes back into the pool of the ocean he’s been drowning in for years now. It’s like his mind craves the rush of losing his breath, of feeling his lungs burning as they over-exert themselves trying to get him to breathe. He misses the heat against his skin that blooms every time he makes a cut, misses the red that contrasts against his pale skin. He misses the burn of the blade he hasn’t touched in six months.</p><p>It’s a slippery slope.</p><p>One he finds himself currently braving at 2:30 in the morning.</p><p>He’s wide awake, staring at the ceiling fan turning endlessly above him, silently mocking him as he shifts in the bed. Nothing feels comfortable. It all feels foreign, like he doesn’t belong, like he shouldn’t be here.</p><p><em>Maybe you shouldn’t</em>, his mind so helpfully supplies.</p><p>He touches his fingers together again, thinking maybe this time it’ll work.</p><p>It doesn’t.</p><p>His skin itches underneath the smooth sheets, and he wants to scratch, to cave. But if he does that, there’s no stopping him. It’ll start as a scratch. Then a cut. Then a deeper one. Then another one. And another, and another, and another until—</p><p>Alec squeezes his eyes shut, bathing himself in darkness once more. He shouldn’t think those things. He’s supposed to be getting better.</p><p>Six months is a lot of progress.</p><p>But his mind doesn’t really focus on that. His mind focuses on the fact that he hasn’t had this in six months. That he hasn’t found release in the one way he’s craving it most. He hasn’t punished himself properly for all of the things that he’s done wrong. There are so many reasons why he should do it, so many reasons to just dive headfirst back into the pool and abandon the hope of ever coming back up for air.</p><p>He wiggles his toes underneath the sheets.</p><p>Somehow, he feels water.</p><p>Alec opens his eyes then, panting heavily. He rises up from the bed, sticking to the sheets now painted with sweat. His hands are shaking as he places his feet to the floor. There’s no water there, he can clearly see that. But he feels it.</p><p>He’s slipping.</p><p>He’s slipping, and he has no control of stopping now. His mind blurs again, his feet taking him into the bathroom, flicking the lights on. He winces at the sudden brightness, but continues on, reaching into the cabinet to take apart his old razor. The blades clatter into the sink, and Alec slams his hands against the counter, staring down at the four silver, gleaming blades sitting in the bottom of the sink. </p><p>
  <em>You need this.</em>
</p><p>He doesn’t. He doesn’t need it.</p><p>
  <em>You’re not strong enough. You’ll never be good enough.</em>
</p><p>He shouldn’t be listening to the voice in his head. He should just take an ambien and go back to bed.</p><p>
  <em>Disappear.</em>
</p><p>Alec’s tears sting his eyes as they fall. His breathing is heavy and his hands are still shaking. He doesn’t want to listen, but he can’t block it out.</p><p>
  <em>Do it.</em>
</p><p>Biting his lip harshly, he listens.</p><p>The razor is in his hand, poised and ready. The corner just presses into the tender flesh when his phone rings in the other room.</p><p>The harsh blare of rock music is like a stark light in the middle of a dark room. Alec jolts at the sound, dropping the blade as if it’s burned him. His breath shudders painfully as he backs away from the sink, lungs burning as he chokes on the air around him. His turns tail quickly, stumbling back into the bedroom and away from the sink, from the blades, from the thoughts begging him to go back.</p><p>Alec rushes over to the bedside, hands fumbling as he takes one of his many pill bottles by the bed. He unscrews the cap, shaking until a small collection of peach colored pills fall into his hand.</p><p>He downs them quickly, washing them with water that seems to burn his esophagus.</p><p>With a gasping cough, he turns to unplug his phone, not even bothering to look at who in the world would be calling at this hour, pressing the phone to his ear.</p><p>“Hello?”</p><p>“Alexander?”</p><p>Alec’s form stills for a moment at the sound of Magnus’ voice. Even though it’s 2:30 a.m., he doesn’t sound tired. Magnus’ voice is calm and gentle, a stark contrast to the raging, violent storm in Alec’s mind.</p><p>“Magnus,” Alec says as calmly as he can, “what’s wrong?”</p><p>“Should I be asking you that?”</p><p>Alec’s brows furrow as he closes his eyes. He flexes his fingers, forming a fist every few seconds, silently relishing the harsh press of fingernails to his palm. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“I had a feeling,” Magnus admits. “I had a feeling, and I got worried. So I called.”</p><p>“Just a feeling?”</p><p>“You know what I mean, darling.”</p><p>Alec presses his lips together, fingernails pressing into his palm more harshly than before. “I’m fine,” he lies. “Just...had some trouble sleeping.”</p><p>“Did you take an ambien?”</p><p>Alec nods, even though Magnus can’t possibly see him. He’s taken six in total tonight, five more than he’s supposed to, but he doesn’t tell Magnus that. “I’m waiting for it to kick in,” he decides to say instead. It’s a half-truth. He’s waiting for it to kick in, for the drugs in his system to pull him into a sleep so deep he can’t be plagued by nightmares or hellish thoughts.</p><p>“Need someone to keep you company until you fall asleep?”</p><p>He’d like that. Honestly he would. And while a phone conversation is welcomed, it’s not what he needs. He needs grounding, a physical sensation to connect his body and his soul back together. He needs touch, care. He needs to not be alone cause he definitely can’t trust himself right now.</p><p>“...can you come over?” Alec replies timidly.</p><p>There’s a shift on the other line, most likely sheets being shuffled. “Alexander—”</p><p>“I know it’s late. I’m sorry,” Alec cuts him off before he rejects him. “I shouldn’t have asked. A phone call is fine.”</p><p>It’s not fine. The call won’t be enough. He’ll still wind up bloody in the bathroom before the night is over. <br/>“I was going to ask if you wanted me to bring anything,” Magnus replies instead. “I have ice cream in the fridge. It’s the strawberry creme you like so much. It’s yours if you want it.”</p><p>Alec’s lip trembles in response. He sniffles harshly as his tears begin to flow once more. “Y-You don’t have to—“<br/><br/>“I want to, Alexander. Let me do this. For you.”</p><p>The sob Alec has been trying to hold back escapes in a harsh cry. “Okay,” he whimpers, coming up to rub the heel of his hand against his eye sockets.</p><p>“Do you want to keep me on the line until I’m over there?” Magnus asks gently. “It’ll be ten minutes at the most.”</p><p>“If it’s not too much.”</p><p>“You’re never too much, dear,” Magnus assures. “Would you like to hear about my day?”</p><p>“S-Sure.”</p><p>Magnus proceeds to tell Alec all about his day, about the tasks he’d been performing in the lab, how he met Cat and Ragnor and Raphael for lunch. He speaks of them fondly, and Alec’s heart aches as he wishes he could confide in a group of people like Magnus does. Magnus has such a fulfilling, wonderful life. And what does Alec have? A job that he doesn’t enjoy, friends who are always further beyond reach, and a list of drugs so long to fix so many problems—yet don’t fix anything at all.</p><p>“Darling?”</p><p>“What? Sorry…I just—”</p><p>“Falling asleep already?” Magnus teases. “I’m joking,” he assures a second later. “I’m outside. I just need you to let me up.”</p><p>“O-Oh,” Alec stammers, “right.” He turns out of the bedroom a bit too quickly, world tilting slightly. He catches himself on the doorframe, catching his breath and his balance before moving towards the door, allowing Magnus entry to the building.</p><p>Magnus knocks on the door about two minutes later. Alec opens it swiftly, revealing Magnus’ tired, yet beautiful frame in the doorway. He wears a simply pair of baggy sweats and an oversized college shirt, holding up a plastic bag of what’s probably the ice cream he had mentioned earlier.<br/>Alec steps out of the way, letting Magnus through. “Come on in.”</p><p>Magnus steps in, moving immediately to the kitchen to grab a couple of spoons before they walk back into Alec’s bedroom. It’s only when Magnus steps into the room that Alec realizes how messy it is, how he hasn’t bothered to clean in ages. There are clothes scattered across the floor and the chair. Books have been pulled from their shelves and stacked on the desk, spread open on the floor. The comforters aren’t made. His bottle of ambien is still opened.</p><p>It’s a mess.</p><p>“Sorry about the mess,” Alec apologizes. “I’ve just been a bit tired.”</p><p>“And yet you couldn’t sleep,” Magnus says, calling out his lie from earlier. He places the tub of ice cream and the spoons on the bedside table, clearing it off a bit to make some room. “You don’t have to lie to me, Alexander. If you’re having trouble, I’m always here to help.”</p><p>Alec’s fingers press into some of the old scars that peek out from the cuff of the pullover, the edge of his nail picking at the raised skin. He shrugs half-heartedly. “I can handle it.”</p><p>Alec knows he can’t handle it himself, that he should rely on others and ask for help when he needs it. But he’s already been so much of a burden to them already. He’s always needing help, and he can’t keep expecting everyone to drop their lives for him because he can’t help himself.</p><p>Magnus hums. “Still. The sentiment stands. I’m not going anywhere, Alexander.” He steps closer to Alec, fingers carding gently through the stray hairs that brush a little too closely to his eyes. “I love you.”</p><p>There’s a small smile from Alec in response. “I love you too.”</p><p>Magnus leans forward, just enough to press a gentle, chaste kiss to Alec’s lips. He squeezes Alec’s arm in a silent reminder that <em>I am here.</em></p><p>“Now, go settle on the bed and start on that ice cream,” he says, patting Alec’s arm. “I’ll join you in a second.”</p><p>Alec nods, turning to the bed. He turns on the TV and digs a spoon into the tub of ice cream, watching as Magnus’ form wanders around his room. It takes him a little too long to notice that Magnus is picking up clothes and books, folding them and placing them back where they belong. He cleans up his room quickly and efficiently, and moves to the bathroom to put Alec’s dirty clothes in the hamper.</p><p>He all but forgets about the razors in the sink until there’s an audible hitch of breath. Magnus comes out a moment later, eyes fearful as they catch Alec’s form.</p><p>“Magnus?”</p><p>Magnus says nothing, only rushing over to Alec’s bedside. He takes the tub of ice cream from Alec’s hands—much to his protests—and shoves up the sleeves of Alec’s pullover to expose his scarred arms. Alec gasps at the sudden action, but says nothing as Magnus quickly searches over the newly presented expanse of skin, looking for any new additions. When he finds nothing, he breathes out a sigh of relief that borders on a sob. He presses forward, wrapping his arms around Alec, hugging him tightly.</p><p>“M-Magnus?”</p><p>“Thank god,” Magnus breathes out. “I…I saw the razors in the sink. I thought…I thought you had—”</p><p>Alec swallows thickly. “…I almost did,” he admits in a whisper, arms coming up to wrap around Magnus’ frame. “But then you called.”</p><p>Magnus hugs him tighter at Alec’s confession. “I had a feeling,” he breathes out. “I’m glad I called.”</p><p>“I’m glad you called too.”</p><p>They sit there in silence for a long stretch of time, basking in each other’s warmth. Magnus cards his fingers through Alec’s hair as Alec buries his nose into the crook of Magnus’ neck, breathing in his scent and reveling in the life that comes from him. It’s grounding, feeling Magnus’ breaths against him, his heat, his soft touches. Each little thing brings Alec’s soul back into his body. He feels more himself than he’s felt for most of the night. <br/>And that’s all thanks to Magnus.</p><p>Eventually they lie back on the bed, and Magnus snuggles up to Alec, muttering small whispers of love and endearment in his ears. There’s a gentle pull at Alec’s eyelids, the beginning of sleep starting to wear at his tired frame. <br/><br/>“Tired?” Magnus asks, as if reading his mind.</p><p>Alec hums in response, closing his eyes for a moment and breathing in the sharp scent of Magnus’ sandalwood shampoo.</p><p>“Alright. We’ll get some sleep. C’mon,” Magnus beckons, pulling Alec up from the bed so that they can snuggle underneath the covers. He pulls Alec to him, to the warmth of his chest. Alec can hear Magnus’ steady heartbeat against his ear, lulling him gently to sleep.</p><p>Magnus is here. Magnus is grounding.</p><p>He falls asleep soon after, snuggled against Magnus’ form with the noise of the television in the background. The ice cream remains forgotten on the side table, slowly melting until it’ll be nothing but a creamy puddle tomorrow. But Alec doesn’t care about that, nor does Magnus.</p><p>Right now, all they care about is each other.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yell at me over on twitter @the_biconic_mb</p></blockquote></div></div>
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